


Coming Down

by vondrostes



Category: Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Breathplay, Come Swallowing, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Song: Medicine (Harry Styles), Sub Harry, Unsafe Sex, it's quickly resolved, see author's note - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: “Can’t fucking stand this song,” said a voice that was slow and deep and painfully recognizable to Kaspar, who indulged in a very unique form of masochism by compulsively watching interview clips on YouTube at three in the morning.For a moment, Kaspar thought that he must have imagined it, because there was just no fucking way that he’d ended up at a urinal next to Harry Styles nearly ten years after their last encounter. It was impossible.“I don’t know,” Kaspar finally replied, doing his best to not let the shock show on his face. “I kind of like it. Think the artist has a promising solo career ahead of him.” He was probably laying it on too thick, trying to hint at Harry that he knew him, but Harry just grinned.“You’re a fan, then?” he asked.Kaspar nodded, at a loss for how to explain himself. “I guess you could say that.”





	Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired by the fact that I saw people on Twitter bring up Harry's story about the German boy he "played volleyball with every day" while he was on vacation as a teenager in relation to Medicine.  
> I think it's actually a pretty valid theory to assume that the song is about someone Harry was with before he became famous (for a lot of reasons I won't get into here) so I wrote a fic based on that premise.
> 
> I wrote the whole thing in one day just to prove to myself that when I whine about having to write 3,000 words a day I'm being a huge baby.
> 
> Warning for minor descriptions (reminiscing) of oral sex between two underage characters (Harry was 15 at the time of the encounter, OMC was slightly older but not an adult).
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> I'm on Twitter: @vondrostes & @vondrostesupd8s

Kaspar groaned as the next song came on and slammed his face down onto the table. All of his friends started laughing when they realized what it was, Lacey patting him on the back soothingly even as she guffawed.

“Aww,” she mocked, “they’re playing your boyfriend’s song, that’s so sweet.”

Kaspar glared at her as he sat back up. He wasn’t drunk enough to endure the round of taunts he’d receive if he hung around while the rest of the song played over the nightclub speakers, loud and unfortunately inescapable. “I’ve gotta take a piss,” he told her, waiting for her to move out of the way so he could escape the booth.

Telling his friends in a drunken moment of temporary honesty that he’d hooked up with Harry Styles before he’d gotten famous had been a big mistake.

It was quieter in the bathroom, though Kaspar could still make out the tune of the song as it transitioned into the first chorus. He clamped his jaw shut against the bizarre urge to sing along. It was catchier than it had any right to be.

Kaspar had kept a careful lid on his secret when he’d still been living in Germany at the peak of One Direction’s fame. After they’d disbanded—or gone on hiatus, whatever they were calling it these days—he’d moved to America and decided it might be a fun story to tell at parties. It was fun: for the people he told, anyway.

The mocking Kaspar received was no less severe even years after the boy band had shed their pre-pubescent bubblegum pop image. So he’d decided to keep his mouth shut once again. Until one night, when he’d been wasted in the back of an Uber, and decided to blurt out that the man whose song was playing over the radio had once given him a blowjob in someone’s backyard at a house party when Kaspar was a teenager.

He’d regretted confessing ever since.

He sort of regretted the blowjob, too. There had been a bittersweet melancholia attached to the memory even before Kaspar had found out about Harry Styles’s newfound fame, and then after, he mostly felt bitter over what could have been.

And okay, maybe he was a little jealous.

There was one other guy at the urinals when Kaspar wandered over. He parked himself with exactly one space between them, as courtesy demanded, and then unzipped with one arm braced against the wall for stability.

Kaspar wasn’t expecting the other guy to start a conversation in the exact same second that he started pissing.

“Can’t fucking stand this song,” he remarked loudly in a voice that was slow and deep and painfully recognizable to Kaspar, who indulged in a very unique form of masochism by compulsively watching interview clips on YouTube at three in the morning every so often.

For a moment, Kaspar thought that he must have imagined it, because there was just no fucking way that he’d ended up at a urinal next to Harry Styles nearly ten years after their last encounter. It was impossible.

But when Kaspar zipped up and took a step back to evaluate the other man, he was hit like a punch to the gut by the realization that no, he hadn’t imagined a fucking thing. The man standing at the sink was unmistakably Harry Styles, dressed in a bright pink Hawaiian shirt with a matching bandana in his hair, atop which was perched a tiny Samurai topknot.

He didn’t look anything like the fifteen-year-old that Kaspar had hooked up with a decade ago, but that didn’t matter, because Kaspar felt like he’d practically grown up with Harry with how much he showed up in the tabloids and on Instagram. He would’ve been hard-pressed to escape the man.

“I don’t know,” Kaspar finally replied, doing his best to not let the shock show on his face. “I kind of like it. Think the artist has a promising solo career ahead of him.” He was probably laying it on too thick, trying to hint at Harry that he knew him, but Harry just grinned.

“You’re a fan, then?” he asked.

Kaspar nodded, at a loss for how to explain himself. “I guess you could say that.”

“I’d offer to take a picture, but I think it’s probably in bad form to do one in a club toilet,” Harry told him. “Are you here alone?”

It took Kaspar a minute to think of an adequate response. Was Harry hitting on him? Did he recognize him after all? Or was Kaspar reading into things too much? “Um, no,” he replied, “but my friends won’t mind if I dip for a bit.” He winced internally at how forward he sounded.

Harry didn’t seem to mind. “Cool, cool,” he said, staring directly into Kaspar’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. “Follow me, then.”

Kaspar absently wondered as he trailed after Harry if this was how he always picked up guys. It didn’t seem very practical for an internationally-known superstar, but then again, this was a gay club, and one with a rather elite reputation, at that. He supposed most of the people there were used to seeing celebrities. And being seen by them. It was Hollywood, after all.

The VIP lounge was on the third tier of the club; the bathroom had been on the second, right next to the elevator. Kaspar texted Lacey to let her know that he’d be finding his own way home that night before quickly tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“They don’t have urinals in the VIP section?” he remarked conversationally, feeling embarrassingly validated when Harry laughed.

“They do, but someone had an accident in the men’s,” Harry told him. “They were still cleaning it up and no one would let me use the women’s loo, so.” He shrugged. “Guess it was worth the trip downstairs,” he said with a meaningful look.

Kaspar felt his face go hot. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth to come up with a quick reply, and then the elevator doors were opening, revealing a couple of bouncers just outside, guarding a pair of frosted-glass doors. Harry waved at the one on the left, who opened the doors for them without saying a word. Kaspar held his breath as he stepped inside, still half-afraid they might decide he didn’t belong there—Harry’s endorsement aside—and kick him out.

The lounge was packed. Kaspar was surprised to discover that Harry seemed to know literally everyone. It took them forever to reach the back wall where there were actual booths instead of tables overlooking the dancefloor from the mezzanine; Harry stopped to shake hands and hug practically every single person they passed. Kaspar just nodded and smiled and wished he knew what the hell he was doing.

It was a bit less hectic when they reached the row of booths, most of which had the curtains drawn down to give the illusion of privacy. Harry made straight for a group of men chatting animatedly beside one of the booths in the corner closest to them. One of them men, a guy around Kaspar’s age with light brown hair, looked up in interest as they approached.

“Took you long enough,” he remarked in an American accent. He scanned over Kaspar with an intense expression. “Who’s your friend?”

“Jeff, this is—” Harry paused and turned to Kaspar. “Fucking hell,” he said a bit apologetically. “I didn’t even get your name.”

It was odd hearing Harry swear like ‘fuck’ was practically the only word in his vocabulary. The Harry Kaspar had met in his hometown could barely utter a curse word without blushing bright red after. Kaspar had delighted in trying to cure him of it, making him repeat various words in phrases with him under the guise of ‘improving his English’. Well, Kaspar’s English had improved, and apparently, Harry’s relationship with the English language had changed quite a bit as well.

“Kaspar,” he said, waiting for a flicker of recognition in Harry’s face, anything.

Harry didn’t even blink. “Kaspar, cool. So Jeff, this is Kaspar. Kaspar, this is Jeff. We met while I was having a wee,” Harry explained to his friend, who didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by either Kaspar’s presence or the story of how he’d ended up following Harry into the VIP lounge.

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff replied with a soft smile before turning back to Harry. “Do I need to—?” He mimed using a pen in the air with an expectant expression. Kaspar looked between him and Harry, wondering just what the hell was going on.

“Nah,” Harry replied with a shrug. “Well, maybe later,” he amended. “Still with me?” he asked Kaspar, nodding toward the booth they were standing in front of.

Kaspar nodded and followed Harry inside.

The VIP booths were nothing like the cramped diner-style booths for the peasantry downstairs. These were solid cubicles lined on three sides by luminescent bubbling aquariums, in which glowing white jellyfish slowly drifted. There were two leather couches and a divan against the back wall, surrounding a small table. There was actual breathing room, too, which was by far the biggest difference between the two.

Harry closed the curtains as soon as Kaspar stepped inside. “You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” he said in a low tone, swallowing hard as he stepped closer to Kaspar, “but I really want to fucking blow you right now.”

“Oh my god.”

“Is that a yes?” Harry crooked an eyebrow, already getting down on his knees in front of Kaspar and reaching tentatively toward the zipper on his jeans.

Kaspar nodded frantically, hardly able to believe that nine years after the first time, he somehow had Harry Styles on his knees in front of him again, ready to put Kaspar’s dick in his fucking mouth. The same mouth Kaspar had wet dreams about when he was a teenager.

This Harry was nothing like the sprightly English boy on holiday who was so transparently into boys he would stare with his eyes glazed over as Kaspar played volleyball shirtless on the beach, but his eyes were the same, his mouth was the same, and the hands pulling Kaspar’s cock out of his jeans were the same ones that had touched him the first time he’d ever gotten off with a boy.

Kaspar had been Harry’s first time too.

“Oh,” Harry said in surprise as he got a good look at his dick. “You’re not circumcised.” Apparently Harry was in the habit of banging Americans.

“I moved here when I was twenty,” Kaspar told him a bit breathlessly, watching in open-mouthed fascination as Harry licked the palm of his hand before turning his attentions back to Kaspar’s dick. “From Germany.” Kaspar was half-hoping that might spark Harry’s memories of the summer they spent together, but there was no reaction from the other man.

He closed his eyes for a moment while Harry pulled on his cock, methodically stroking him to hardness so they could get to the main event. It was a mistake. Without the sight of Harry right in front of him, overwhelming his senses, Kaspar could only think about the fact that Harry had no idea who he was. To Harry, Kaspar was just another one-night stand. A stranger.

Suddenly, Kaspar couldn’t do this anymore.

“Fuck,” he said, pulling away from Harry and hastily tucking himself back into his jeans, doing his best to ignore the discomfort as he zipped up over his erection and took a step back. He knocked his hip directly into the corner of the table. “Fuck!”

Jeff poked his head through the curtains, staring at the two of them in concern. “Everything okay?” he asked, making Kaspar very grateful his dick was already back in his pants.

“Fine,” Harry replied shortly as he stood back up. He waited until Jeff withdrew again before turning to Kaspar with a wounded expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I misread things,” he started, forcing Kaspar to realize that Harry thought he was having a crisis of sexuality, not one of conscience.

“No!” Kaspar blurted out too-loudly. “Sorry, I just mean. Um, can we sit down for a minute?” Doing so was made somewhat uncomfortable due to the zipper on his pants digging into his still-hard cock, but Harry looked a little less tense once they were seated on opposite sides of the table, so Kaspar decided it was a necessary sacrifice.

Still, he couldn’t believe he was about to have this conversation.

“So,” he started off, unable to maintain eye contact with Harry for more than a second at a time, “the thing is we kind of already know each other?”

Harry just squinted at him, confirming to Kaspar that yes, Harry had no fucking clue who he was when he’d picked him up in the bathroom. How was this even his life?

“I think I’d remember if we met,” Harry replied with a weak laugh, already trying to make a joke out of it.

Kaspar was surprised Harry hadn’t thrown him out yet. But maybe that was the reason none of Harry’s hookups ran to the tabloids with tales of his sexual exploits. He was just too charming in person to even consider trying to fuck over.

“Even if it was a decade ago?” Kaspar shot back.

Harry’s expression remained blank for a moment, and then his mouth dropped open in realization. “Oh my god,” he said, almost to himself. “You’re not—that Kaspar, are you?”

Kaspar nodded.

Harry’s head dropped into his hands. “I feel like such a knob,” he said without lifting his gaze.

Kaspar felt bad for him now. He wasn’t trying to embarrass Harry, in fact, he felt more embarrassed for himself at having to explain the whole thing. How was he supposed to tell Harry that he’d been hung up on one messy, awkward blowjob from nine years ago all this time?

“I mean, I look pretty different,” Kaspar said, as if that wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world, “so it’s understandable that you wouldn’t recognize me. But you—”

Harry’s head shot up again. “Christ, you must have to put up with seeing my face _everywhere_.” He looked mortified.

“It’s not all bad,” Kaspar joked. “It’s a pretty nice face, after all.”

Harry’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “So now that we’ve sorted all that out,” he said slowly, “is that blowjob still on the table?”

Kaspar blinked at him in surprise. “You still want to?”

“More than ever.”

There wasn’t much room for maneuvering on either of the two sofas with the table crammed in between them, so Kaspar ended up sitting on the edge of the divan instead, his jeans pulled down his thighs so Harry could get at his cock and balls with minimal difficulty.

“You’re clean, right?” Harry asked, looking up at him from under his eyelashes.

Kaspar nodded. “But we can use a condom if you want. I don’t mind.”

“I do,” Harry told him before turning his attention back to Kaspar’s cock.

It wasn’t anything like the last time they’d did this—the first time they did this—when Harry had knelt down in the grass while Kaspar braced himself against the side of the house, feeling the bass thrumming through his fingers.

This time, the vibrations from the music playing throughout the club were everywhere around them, filling Kaspar up with a pleasant buzzy thrum as he waited for Harry to get his mouth on his dick.

The Harry between his legs in the present was more assured than the one from Kaspar’s past. This Harry knew exactly what he was doing when he mouthed at the underside of Kaspar’s shaft, teasing with broad swipes of his tongue before finally engulfing him in tight, wet heat. Kaspar closed his eyes instinctively and then forced himself to open them again. If he had to go another nine years without this, he wanted to engrave the memory into his brain.

Harry had complete control over Kaspar like this, with his hands firmly pinning down Kaspar’s hips while Harry took him down into the back of his throat. He swallowed around him, forcing Kaspar to bite his fist to keep from letting out a groan loud enough that anyone standing outside the booth would hear.

Harry was clearly aware of Kaspar’s dilemma, and delighted in it; he kept up the agonizingly slow pace of letting Kaspar’s dick slip all the way out of his mouth before diving back down again, nearly to the base.

Kaspar wanted nothing more than to drop dead, right then and there, with his dick in Harry’s mouth so he never had to live without it again.

Kaspar reached out with one hand toward Harry’s head, recalling what they had discovered he’d liked the first time. Having his hair pulled: that had been a big one. It hadn’t taken much more than a few rough tugs on those curls while his mouth was full of dick for fifteen-year-old Harry to come untouched in his swimming trunks.

Harry bobbed a little faster once the bandana and clip had fallen out of his hair, replaced by Kaspar’s hand providing an insistent counterpressure to every downstroke. Finally, he pulled off, a thing string of saliva connecting his bottom lip to the tip of Kaspar’s cock. Both were flushed the same shade of red.

“Is it good?” Harry asked, his eyes shining with some unidentifiable emotion.

Kaspar nodded, lowering his hand from his own mouth to circle around the base of his dick, giving it some much-needed pressure as he waited for Harry to go down on him again. “Better than the last time,” he said thoughtlessly, but Harry seemed to take it in stride.

“If I remember correctly,” Harry replied, sitting back on his heels and palming his own crotch, “you came in less than a minute last time.”

“Well, it was the first time my dick had ever been in someone’s mouth,” Kaspar pointed out.

Harry couldn’t contain the tiny smile that pulled at his shiny wet mouth while he stared silently up at Kaspar. After a long moment he drew his hands back, pushing against Kaspar’s knees. “Want you to fuck my throat,” he said, nodding over his shoulder toward the table behind them.

It didn’t take long for Kaspar to figure out exactly what Harry was getting at. “Here? Any of your friends could walk right in.”

“And?”

So semi-public sex still got Harry hot under the collar, apparently. Good to know.

Kaspar stood up slowly, his hand still holding the base of his dick, while Harry climbed up onto the table and laid himself down flat on his back, his head hanging off the edge facing Kaspar.

“Have you done this before?” Kaspar asked him, suddenly nervous he was going to hurt Harry and be responsible for him never being able to sing again.

“Have you?” Harry shot back in a slightly breathless voice.

Kaspar wondered if being upside-down was part of the appeal, already unable to breathe properly before he even had a dick down his throat.

“Pinch my leg if you want me to pull out,” Kaspar told him as he took a step forward. He let Harry set the pace at first, waiting to be pulled in by his hips before sliding his dick back into Harry’s mouth.

It was easier like this, the angle of Harry’s neck letting Kaspar glide in smoothly with no resistance at all. He’d been too big for Harry to take the first time they’d done this, but now he didn’t even flinch as Kaspar pushed all the way in to the base, until Harry’s nose nudged against his balls.

He held himself there, marveling at the sight of Harry’s throat bulging as he caressed his neck, watching in fascination as Harry swallowed around him twice before he pulled back out again. It felt good in a way that even fucking someone couldn’t quite compare to, the complex sensations of Harry’s throat and tongue working in unison almost overwhelming as Kaspar thrusted shallowly in and out.

Even though he had more stamina than he did as a teenager, Kaspar knew he wasn’t going to last long. “You can touch yourself,” he gasped out, his eyes roving over the bulge in Harry’s corduroys as he started to move his hips faster, plunging deeper now with every stroke.

He glanced down before Harry could get a hand on himself and lost focus, too caught up in the sight of Harry’s lips stretched around his cock as Kaspar literally fucked his throat, practically using it as a masturbation sleeve.

“God, you feel so good,” Kaspar groaned as he chased his own orgasm, less concerned with whether Harry got off or not now that he’d given him permission to do so.

He wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self that this was waiting for him, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and it was Harry Styles’s fucking mouth, better now than it had ever been.

“Gonna come,” Kaspar finally grunted as he slammed his hips into Harry’s face, hard enough that it actually hurt every time Harry’s nose pressed between his balls. The pain only made it that much better when he finally did come, spilling hot and thick down Harry’s throat, so deep it was practically pouring into Harry’s stomach.

Almost instantaneously, Harry jolted underneath him. Kaspar, thinking he finally needed air, kept a hand on his throat just below his chin, forcing him to use the signal they’d agreed upon if he really needed it. But when Kaspar looked up, he found Harry’s hand down his pants, his hips bucking up in the air, and he realized Harry was coming too, just from the feeling of Kaspar shooting into his throat.

When Kaspar finally pulled out, Harry’s face was a mess. He was drenched in come, his own drool and snot, dripping from his chin to his hair.

Kaspar reached down to offer him his own bandana in lieu of something better to clean up with, and then helped him down off the table and back onto the divan. They sat with their knees touching as Kaspar tucked himself back into his pants before turning to Harry, who was staring down forlornly at his bandana with his face still coated in a mixture of their fluids.

“I’d offer my shirt,” Kaspar told him, “but I don’t think the club staff would look too kindly on it.”

“Should’ve made Jeff get me a towel,” Harry muttered to himself as he finally unfolded the bandana and used it to wipe at his face. “Better?” he asked after a few passes.

Kaspar reached out and thumbed at a bit of wetness still clinging to the corner of Harry’s mouth before popping the finger into his own. “All good,” he said with a smile after sucking his thumb clean while Harry looked on with glazed eyes. “Cuddle?” he asked, extending his arms hopefully. They hadn’t had the chance the first time, both of them too worried about being caught to concern themselves with anything else.

Harry nodded and scooted over so he could slot himself against Kaspar’s chest, breathing in deeply as if to make up for the lack of air he’d been subject to with a dick halfway down his throat.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked as soon as Kaspar’s arms were tightly wound around his middle.

“Yeah, of course.”

Harry tilted his head toward Kaspar, looking surprisingly bashful for someone who’d just lain on a table in the back of a nightclub and gotten face-fucked without expressing a single ounce of shame in the process. “I wrote a song about you,” he said meekly.

Kaspar frowned. He’d listened to Harry’s album. It was a lot of angst over failed relationships with a few bangers thrown in for color. That had been his first impression, at any rate. There certainly wasn’t anything that described the summer they’d spent together, innocently flirting until the night before Harry had left, when things had come to a head—literally.

“Which one?” he asked, mentally going over the list in his head and trying to figure it out for himself while he waited for Harry to answer.

But Harry was already shaking his head. “It wasn’t on the album,” he confessed. “I wasn’t…ready, I guess. To put myself out there like that. I was thinking about performing it though, when I go back on tour.”

“Can I listen to it?” Kaspar asked. He was flattered and a little terrified. He felt an intimate ache in knowing that he’d left enough of a mark on someone that they felt compelled to write about it, made even worse by the fact that in his case, it was a global popstar he’d been pining over for nearly a decade.

Harry went pink before rummaging around in his pocket for his phone. It drew Kaspar’s attention to his lavender cords, stained in the front now, which Kaspar couldn’t imagine was at all comfortable. He wondered if Harry would be offended if he suggested they leave the club and go somewhere more private instead, if only so they could both have a shower.

“I don’t have any headphones,” Harry said apologetically as he tapped a few times at the screen before handing the pink phone to Kaspar. “Just press play when you’re ready.”

Kaspar glanced down at the track title before hitting play and putting the phone to his ear. Medicine. He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

He was even less sure what to think when the track transitioned quickly into an up-tempo rock song, far from the type of thing he would have associated with fifteen-year-old Harry, who had been angelic and sweet even when they’d fumbled in the dark together.

But Kaspar supposed that the experience might have felt differently to Harry, who had been a couple years younger and had followed Kaspar around all summer like a lost puppy to parties he certainly would have had no business being at otherwise. Because Harry had found him persuasive.

A small smile crept onto Kaspar’s face, mirrored in kind by Harry, who was still staring up at him, carefully monitoring his reactions to the song.

“It’s good,” Kaspar told him through a grin once it was over. He handed the phone back carefully, watching as Harry slid it back into his pocket with delicate fingers. “You should definitely perform it. It would sound amazing live.”

“Yeah?” Harry replied, looking overjoyed by Kaspar’s praise. “Maybe I’ll have to fly you out to the first show, so you can see it for yourself.”

“Where is the first show?” Kaspar asked curiously. If Harry was offering, he certainly wasn’t going to say no.

“Switzerland.”

Kaspar laughed. “You’re a maniac.” He carded his fingers through Harry’s hair while the younger man practically purred, and waited for him to respond. He was really hoping Harry would invite him back to his place, or at least give him his number. He didn’t want a repeat of their first time together.

But when Harry spoke again, it came out of nowhere.

“You know, when I went home to England after,” he said, lips moving against the fabric of Kaspar’s t-shirt, “I actually cried because I’d never even got a chance to kiss you. I didn’t even have my first kiss until nearly a year after that, and it was with a girl who clearly liked me a lot less than I liked her.” He paused, sighing. “I used to wish it was you instead.”

Kaspar’s hand stilled. He swallowed, forcing the words out of his mouth because he knew he’d regret not saying them. “You could always just kiss me now.”

Harry looked up at him hopefully, his green eyes blown wide. “Can I?”

Kaspar nodded even as he leaned down to press his lips to Harry’s, savoring the plush softness of his mouth with his tongue now instead of his cock. He didn’t know how he was supposed to give this up again. He didn’t think he could.


End file.
